


Write kindness in marble

by JauntyHako



Category: Fallout (Video Games)
Genre: Danse dealing with his issues in the worst way possible, Drinking Games, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post Blind Betrayal, Self-Loathing, bottom!Danse, creative use of the American flag, top!Hancock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 11:17:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5664190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JauntyHako/pseuds/JauntyHako
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That was where he belonged, kneeling even lower than even the worst non-human scum and forced to pleasure them at their leisure. </p><p>Post-Blind Betrayal Danse is riddled with issues. and tries to make Hancock indulge in his self-destructive behaviour. Too bad Hancock actually cares about him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Write kindness in marble

When Hancock casually asked him out on a drink one evening, Danse suspected something queer afoot. For one, the ghoul never did anything nice for Danse. They held their own in a firefight. Even, and no one liked to admit it less than Danse, worked well as a team. But they weren't by any measure friends. After losing the Brotherhood Danse stopped having friends. The only person he periodically talked to was Skyler and she was not an easy woman to be friends with. Added to that the fact that he'd never been the most outgoing of people and that he still dealt with his real identity made for a lonely few months. So lonely, in fact, that he started craving, indeed throwing himself at, the only company he didn't mind offending by his presence. It was self-destructive behaviour, he was not above acknowledging it and sooner or later would get him in real trouble. But Hancock needling him with his snappy witticisms fueled Danse's anger until he started responding in kind.

The first time he committed an act of what he could only describe as sodomy, they'd been in the Old State House, centre of the wretched Goodneighbor, representing in Danse's eyes everything wrong with the Commonwealth. Skyler was running errands, told Danse in few words to wait for her at Hancock's place and not to stir up trouble. Hancock, to his credit, at least pretended not to be overly bothered to see him at his doorstep.

"Come in, make yourself at home. Might wanna get out of the armor if you wanna fit through the doorframes." he'd said. After some careful deliberation Danse did as he was told. The armor was as much a mental shield as it was a physical one. Fifteen centimetres of solid steel protecting him from the world always did wonders for his latent anxiety. But the model he wore these days felt nothing like his old suit and served as a constant reminder that things weren't the way they were supposed to be. Dressed in only his Brotherhood fatigues he followed the ghoul into his living room, which he with a flair of grandeur described as his soiree. Danse wasn't entirely sure what a soiree was. The word sounded unfamiliar to his ears and was in any case not one he'd likely associate with the ghoul's abode. If he had to choose one word it would be 'iniquity'.

Careful not to knock anything over or jam something pointy and laced with chemicals into his thighs, he sat down on one of the sofas while Hancock sprawled on the one opposite him. Not for the first time Danse equated him with a cat. Not as graceful, or clean, and certainly not as loveable and cute. But the attitude, that aggravating arch of his back, the head tilted back to expose his throat as he inhaled his drugs. He acted as if the world was made of gold and marble with him as it's king. It was infuriating, downright obscene. A perfect metaphor for the state of the world, when mutated monstrosities reigned the earth and left its humans to wallow in misery. Danse refused to call himself a bigot. He had reasons for the way he thought and the people in the Brotherhood, following those same doctrines, were good people. Who could blame him, or anyone, for despising super mutants among other things? But the point was that Danse acknowledged that some ghouls could be valuable members of society. The threat of going feral made them in need of constant surveillance and caution, but through hard work and dedication they could prove themselves to be better than their reputation made them out to be. Hancock was not one of these ghouls. And by God, Danse hated him. Hated his sarcasm, making it sound like Danse was being the ridiculous one. Hated his ridiculous outfit, the way he used the flag of America, an important relic of long gone times, as an accessoire slung around his waist, the very fact he wore these clothes at all the very height of disrespect. He hated, most of all, that Hancock didn't seem to hate him. He made his jokes, some of them stinging, and he left out no opportunity to detail why exactly he thought the Brotherhood should be eradicated. But when he raved about bigoted isolationist lunatics swimming in testosterone he never meant Danse personally. It was as if he knew what got to Danse the most and refused to fight him because he knew it would press all his buttons. Right there was where his line of thinking fell off the sane path. Furrowing his brow Danse decided that one could fight kindness with kindness.

"I have noticed a remarkable degree of order in this city." he said, the taste of small-talk with a ghoul leaving a sour note. At least the statement served its purpose. Hancock looked out from under his hat, focusing with some difficulty on Danse.

"You have?" he asked, then leaned back onto the sofa, less provocatively this time. At least he kept his legs closed. "Well, ain't that something."

Seemingly content to accept the compliment Danse worked on for the better part of an hour without further discussion, Danse chose to up the stakes.

"I've been told Goodneighbor used to have more of a sinister reputation. It is a remarkable achievement to bring the worst of humankind back to a lawful existence."

Maybe he'd overdone it. Hancock frowned, his hat falling further into his eyes as he undoubtedly deliberated what Danse was planning. He would have no luck guessing it, as Danse himself had no idea what he was doing. Skyler advised him to do what felt right and socialising with a ghoul seemed like the right thing to do at the moment.

"You're full of surprises, robot boy." Hancock said.

Danse tensed, a sharp warning on his lips already when the ghoul spotted his discomfort.

"Relax, I was referring to your tin suit, not ... the other thing." he finished somewhat lamely. It was, and Danse was sure he was mistaken, as if he actually tried to be considerate of Danse's feelings. It figured, that the only person to show Danse a degree of humanity he didn't deserve would be a freak like him. There was some logic in there, Danse supposed. A proper human's friendship was wasted on a machine.

"Thank you for clarifying that." Danse said drily. Hancock chuckled deeply and gave him a two-fingered mock salute. He remembered wondering why Skyler, who had been pre-war military, didn't take offense at this gesture. She seemed to find it amusing. Although she also seemed to find the Brotherhood's salute amusing. It was a thing he started taking perverse pleasure in, remembering how crestfallen Elder Maxson had been to learn that someone from the pre-war military, which he always regarded as a high authority and worthy example, would put so little stock into the Brotherhood's efforts.

"You know what?" the ghoul said suddenly, rising from his sofa. "We should get shit-faced drunk. No better way to make fast friends."

The suggestion took Danse off-guard. Thus by the time he formed an adequate response he already had a row of shotglasses, filled to the brim with a dark purple substance, in front of him.

"This is not becoming of a Brotherhood paladin."

"You ain't Brotherhood anymore."

The knowledge stung and Danse stared glumly down at the glasses. Hancock sat up properly, or as proper as he could manage. His legs were still spread wide, presenting himself like a common whore. He'd never been seriously drunk. A slight buzz was all he ever allowed himself and even that slight loss of control scared him. But then again, there was no longer anything or anyone he was responsible for. If he ended up dancing topless on the tables while raiders overcame the city, it wouldn't matter to anyone. He didn't have a duty to anyone or anything. With newfound determination he took the first glass and swallowed its contents whole. In hindsight not a smart decision.

The liquid burned like fire, setting his mouth and throat ablaze. He coughed, pounded his chest and simultaneously tried to glare at the ghoul who laughed like he witnessed the most humourous event.

"Knock 'em back, soldier." he said and downed two of his own in quick succession. He didn't even blink at what had to be a sharp taste even for him.

Danse, refusing to be outpaced by a ghoul, emptied the second and third glass with marginally more success. After finishing the fifth one, leaving Hancock to fill them up again, he started feeling the buzz.

"So." Hancock said as he took up his seat again. "I don't know what you did for fun in the Brotherhood, if you ever stopped your crusades long enough to pull those sticks out of your asses, that is. But usually when you plan on getting drunk you make a game of it. Ever played 'Never have I ever'?"

Danse shook his head. He didn't like where this was going but could hardly chicken out now that he'd already started drinking. He'd just have to see this through to the end. The game, whatever it was, sounded innocent enough.

"It's easy. One of us says something we have never ever done. Truth or lie. But. If you have done it you take a shot and the same goes for the other person. Got it?"

"So if I were to say, never have I ever fought a deathclaw with my bare hands we would both have to take shots?"

"Yeah. Thanks for reminding me of that, by the way. As if I don't have enough stuff to fuel my nightmares. Anyway, let's see here. Never have I ever jacked off in a suit of power armor."  
Agreeing to this had been the biggest mistake of his life. He stared at the ghoul, lips pressed into a thin line, willing him to take his statement back. Then he begrudgingly took a shot. Hancock whistled appreciatively, though of what he was appreciative Danse didn't presume to know. Perhaps his intention to be honest, even if it robbed him of his dignity.

"The topics of this game will be your carefully guarded secrets." Danse said and then: "Never have I ever woken up somewhere unfamiliar without my clothes on."

Hancock chortled and took a drink.

"Never have I ever fantasised about my boss while rubbing one out."

Curse this man. Danse drank. This rapidly turned into a competition of who could embarrass the other more. The smart thing would be to stop while he still had the chance. Instead Danse said:  
"Never have I ever fantasised about a member of the Brotherhood while masturbating."

Let it never be said the Brotherhood didn't rise to a challenge. He drank, and so did Hancock, after a good deal of hesitation.

"You wanna play it that way? Fine. Never have I ever paid for sex."  
Hancock didn't drink and grinned at him, daring him to chicken out. Danse leaned back with a small smile, not drinking.

"Nice try, freak. Never have I ever _been_ paid for sex."

This time Hancock barely hesitated, but he wasn't smiling anymore. He knocked his drink back and muttered: "Asshole."

Danse hadn't expected him to drink. He just wanted to humiliate him by playing on his low opinion of him. He didn't think anyone would want to pay a ghoul for the dubious pleasure of sexual intercourse. Although now that he searched Hancock's face for some kind of expression he remembered that he hadn't always been what he was. Danse realised he knew next to nothing about the man.

"Never have I ever been a colossal asshole." Hancock said confrontationally. That was fair. Danse drank as a peace offering, which seemed to appease him somewhat. As if to show he accepted the not-apology Hancock drank as well. Danse took his time thinking about his next statement. The game was more fun than he'd expected. A small part of him acknowledged it might have something to do with the company.

"Never have I ever pretended not to be terrified by bloodbugs."

Hancock drank, shuddering at the mere thought of these creatures. His next statement was similarily innocent and so they played round after round, Danse becoming increasingly more intoxicated while Hancock appeared to be just as collected as when they'd started. Experience or his unique genetic makeup Danse couldn't tell, but alcohol didn't seem to do much for him. Belatedly Danse theorised that this might have been a trap from the beginning, intended to lure him into a false sense of security until he spilled secrets that he'd be able to use against him. At the time the thought occurred to him however he was already sufficiently drunk not to care. His focus at the moment lay more on Hancock's lewdly splayed legs, the trousers barely concealing his thin thighs. The train of his thoughts went nowhere he wanted it to be and yet Danse couldn't help but imagine those thighs quivering while Danse knelt between them, using his mouth and tongue to pleasure a ghoul. To his inebriated mind the idea made sense. That was where he belonged, kneeling even lower than even the worst non-human scum and forced to pleasure them at their leisure. It was the musings of a drunk man, Danse knew even now, and also that he would regret following up on it for the rest of his life. But since his life wasn't worth much to begin with he could live with that. How to breach the subject was another thing entirely. Danse didn't have much experience with this kind of thing. The traditional route, he gathered, was dinner and drinks. Then he chastised himself for being ridiculous. He wasn't propositioning a human. There was no need to stand on ceremony.

"Never have I ever", he said when his turn came and took a deep breath to steady himself. "Wanted to get fucked by a ghoul."

The words came out not half as smooth as he intended them to be. A blush crept up his neck and to his cheeks as he reached out to drink, not meeting Hancock's eyes.

"Well." Hancock muttered. "Never have I ever expected to hear something like that out of your mouth." He drank, though less to indicate his statement as true and more to play for time, assessing Danse. Danse meanwhile had enough of waiting. He decided to do this, figuring any kind of intimacy was better than nothing. He stood and bridged the distance between them, sinking down onto Hancock's lap and cupping his cock. The ghoul gasped and pushed Danse's hand away.

"Not so fast there, soldier boy. We ain't in a hurry."  
But Danse was. The part of his brain still capable of thinking threatened to catch up with his impulsive decision. He growled impatiently and kissed Hancock hard, squeezing his eyes shut at the feeling of rotten lines were plump lips should have been. When Hancock placed his hands on his hips and squeezed Danse nearly moaned. It had been so long without another person's touch. He pushed against Hancock, forced himself to concentrate on the sensation rather than its circumstances to get himself hard as fast as possible.

"Geez, slow down. Lemme make you feel good."

"Don't get sentimental, freak." Danse said and knew he'd hurt Hancock. Good. The last thing he wanted was for this to get emotional. He needed to feel like dirt, needed to be degraded by someone he wouldn't even have considered shaking hands with before. He shuffled closer and pushed his hand between their bodies, palming Hancock's growing erection through his trousers, the back of his hand providing friction for himself. No need to drag this out any longer than needed. But once again Hancock pulled his hand away. Danse made a frustrated noise. If he didn't want this he ought to say so.

"I'm getting the feeling this isn't about mutual attraction."

"This isn't about attraction at all. Now do you want this or not?"

Hancock fixed him with an indecipherable look.

"Oh, I want it. I'm not so sure you do."

This turned out to be less simple than Danse thought it would be. What did the ghoul care? He got the chance to have sex with someone who'd let him do anything he wanted. As a ghoul either opportunity wasn't exactly likely to line up. And yet he refused him.

"I'm here, am I not?"

"Not an answer."  
"For God's sake, ghoul!" Danse cried out, getting up and bringing some distance between them. "A simple 'no' would have been enough. Use me or throw me out but don't string me along like this."

Instead of answering the ghoul merely stared at him with his unfathomable black eyes. Danse grew restless, felt like the silence was answer enough, that he was supposed to leave but he couldn't bring himself to. Rather he stood like an idiot in the middle of the room, trembling enough that Hancock had to pick up on it. If he did, he didn't react to it.

"Sit down." he said instead, not indicating whether or not he approved of Danse's actions. But he motioned Danse to sit down next to him and, when he did, turned to face him.

"So the way I see it." he began, Danse shrinking under his scrutiny. "You want to punish yourself by making me hurt you. Putting aside how damn insulting that is, you can't deal with being hurt right now."

"I can decide for myself what I can deal with-" Danse said but got silenced by one sharp glare.

"You think you're the first one to try that shit? People feeling like shit wanting to be put down by a ghoul or even a goddamn super mutant so at least they have a reason to feel like garbage. Hell, I'd play along, too, but I actually give a crap about my friends and what you're trying to do ain't good for you."

"Don't patronise me-"  
"God dammit!"

Hancock lunged at him, grabbed Danse by the neck and waist and threw him on his stomach, his whole weight pinning Danse down. Fear erased every rational thought, making him lie still and breathing heavily into the pillow. Hancock tightened his grip on his neck, a threat if he ever saw one. He was like prey in a trap, waiting for a knife on his throat. Then he felt lips on the crook of his shoulder. Air got stuck in his throat as Hancock placed one kiss after the other at the little bare skin he could reach.

"Don't ask me to hurt you." Hancock whispered against his ear, making Danse shiver. He'd never been a man to shed tears easily and regretted that now. The pressure of everything that had happened since leaving the Prydwen for the last time threatened to suffocate him. An entire life, lost to lies and delusions, with no way out except to replace one hurt with another. And even that he couldn't do because the damn ghoul insisted on playing the gentleman.

"Get off me." he ordered gruffly. "I'll find someone else."

Who that would be, Danse had no idea. He said it to get Hancock off his back and to tell himself that there were plenty of other fish in the sea. But the truth was no one was likely to want him. Most people still perceived him as a soldier of the Brotherhood and those that didn't knew about his true nature. It was a hard fact that a stoned ghoul with illusions of grandeur was the only one who'd touch Danse with any degree of intimacy. The realisation that he sank that low hit Danse like a shotgun shell. Rock bottom didn't even begin to describe it. Here he lay, shaking out of his skin, a ghoul pushing him into the pillows and rather than becoming furious he let it happen. He experienced some kind of breakdown, said the tiny smidge of rationality left in him. Emotional stress combined with alcohol caused his defenses to crumble. The explanation didn't make it better.

Despite his insistence that he'd find someone else, he didn't make any attempt at fighting against the ghoul's weight on him. He didn't want to. There was a warm body touching his and however cruel he was to deny him his catharsis, Hancock didn't leave him alone either. He stayed where he was, occasionally touching his lips to Danse's neck and otherwise remaining silent and grounding until Danse stopped shaking. When he was sure he calmed down, Hancock got up, helped him to his feet and led him to one of the guest rooms.

"Sleep." he said, not unfriendly. Danse realised the moment to persuade Hancock to fuck him after all was gone and mutely went to bed as ordered. Hancock left, the sound of his boots echoing on the wooden floor, barely drowning out what he muttered to himself: "And remind me not to give you booze again."

Danse lay down and pulled the blankets over his body, staring into the room dimly lit by the lanterns outside. For once he fell asleep quickly and deeply.

 

As expected Danse woke up with disgust filling him to the brim. He wished he'd drank some more, so at least he would have forgotten the events of the night before. But he remembered the ghoul's hands on his body and the way he'd thrown himself at the creature like a desperate whore. Groaning Danse sat up, massaging his temples as he deliberated how he should ever look Hancock in the face again. How he was supposed to look at himself in the mirror. There was only one thing for it, he supposed.

He managed to avoid Hancock as he dressed himself, stepped into his power armour and was out the door before anyone was the wiser. He met Skyler on her way to the Old State House. She raised her eyebrow at him but didn't mention the fact that he was out and about. One good thing about her was that she never asked many questions. They were on the road by noon and Danse intended to bring as much distance between himself and Goodneighbor as possible.

But no matter how far away from Hancock he was physically, the knowledge of what he'd almost done followed him wherever he went. It was a jarring thought that the only reason he hadn't actually had sex with a ghoul was because of said ghoul's concern. Danse never put much stock in the virtue of a non-human, much less one who insisted on flaunting his vices like Hancock did, but it saved at least part of his dignity. There was much he ought to be grateful for but Danse was adamant in his decision never to talk to Hancock ever again. Luckily Skyler was a busy woman and thusly kept him busy as well. They were on the road for weeks, clearing locations of raiders and mutants and helping settlements for the Minutemen. Occasionally people talked to Skyler about delivering packages. Danse wasn't stupid. If those weren't missions for the Institute they were missions for the Railroad. But seeing as he barely had the energy to follow orders, he definitely didn't have what it took to seek out the Railroad on his own initiative. Not least because he no longer even knew what he'd do if he found them.

One night, spent in a hastily erected hovel by some hunter who'd forsaken the place as it had been, until recently, infested with mirelurks, Skyler reminded Danse that even though she never asked questions that didn't mean she didn't show interest. Or concern.

"I noticed you've been rationing stimpaks." she said casually over weapon maintenance. Danse had offered to take first watch but Skyler claimed she wasn't tired. She rarely was, or so it seemed. Undoubtedly result of the drugs she insisted on consuming.

"We don't know how long we'll be out." Danse said, knowing it was a weak excuse.

"All our settlements are stocked with medical supplies. If you need more we can always head over and grab some." Skyler looked at him sharply. "What is this really about?"

Danse shook his head. If he told her stimpaks were wasted on a synth she would disagree. He only used them if they impacted his ability to assist her in battle. They were far too precious a resource to treat simulated pain.

"I don't want to talk about it." he said. Skyler fixed him with a steely glare.

"Use the damn stimpaks." she said and left it at that.

 

When Danse first saw Hancock again, after his botched attempt at self-flagellation, he was surprised at how non-chalant the ghoul acted around him. Some of that had likely to do with Skyler making every one of her friends promise to behave themselves for the upcoming celebrations. Danse wasn't really involved but he understood it was to be a birthday party of some kind for Piper's younger sister and everyone was to come or face the wrath of heaven. Danse preferred not to get on Skyler's bad side and stayed at Sanctuary for a few days, helping with the preparations and otherwise keeping to himself. Others arrived early, too, some with presents, all with the assurance that they couldn't think of anywhere they'd rather be. Hancock was already there when Danse and Skyler arrived, spending his time lounging in one of the patio chairs and imbibing copious amounts of alcohol while watching other people work. Even though he never mentioned what happened between them that night in Goodneighbor, Danse noticed that Hancock seemed to draw extra pleasure from bossing him around.

"A bit to the left." he directed as Danse, on account of being the only one tall enough, put up a banner. The blistering heat drove sweat on his skin. He'd already shrugged out of the sleeves of his jumpsuit and tied them around his waist to cool him off. Danse did as was told and promptly received another instruction: "No, that's too far. Back to the right."

Having his back turned to Hancock allowed him to roll his eyes.

"Put it higher. No, higher. More. No, that's too high."

 _You're too high_. Danse thought but followed Hancock's hints nonetheless. Eventually the banner hung mostly even. No thanks to Hancock, who had started on his second bottle of liquor and apparently developed quite a buzz. Danse watched him chat with some of the others. The way he acted, and how others acted around him, it seemed he was everyone's best friend. Even that Institute courser appeared to be amiable towards the ghoul, hard to interpret his expressions as they were. Of course the friendliness was only a facade. Danse had seen him lose his temper before on the battlefield. And with him, of course. He hadn't even broken a sweat flipping a big man like Danse on his stomach. There was strength, and fury, hidden in that lithe body of his and Danse was again overcome with a desire to see it directed against him. Shaking his head Danse went to clean his armor. Hancock rejected him once. He didn't need to humiliate himself further by approaching him again.

Except that, apparently, he did. All it took was the barest hint of physical proximity to throw Danse back into the pit he'd been weeks ago. Before he would have restrained himself, but now orders from Skyler and acting on his instincts, no matter how ill-advised, were the only prompts to any action he ever got. He wanted Hancock to use and abuse him to his heart's content and that glimpse, the ghoul's hand around his neck, squeezing just this side of painful, told Danse it was a possibility. If he managed to anger him enough.

He approached him when he was alone.

"We need to talk." he said. "Alone."

Curiously Hancock didn't argue. He simply got up and followed Danse into one of the empty houses, fully furnished thanks to Skyler but empty during the day, when the Settlers were busy outside.

"If this is about wha-"  
Danse threw Hancock against the wall, closing in quickly before the ghoul could gather his wits. Without weapons, even with his hidden strength, Hancock didn't stand a chance against Danse. Not if he didn't let him.

"What the-"

"Shut up." Danse commanded. He grabbed Hancock's chin and tilted his head back. What followed couldn't be called a kiss. It was all teeth and crushing desire, spilled blood when Danse pushed his tongue into Hancock's mouth and got bit as a response. He didn't pull back, on the contrary, dove in deeper, kissed him harder, pressed his body against Hancock's to make him feel what he could have if he just took it.

"What the hell do you want from me?" Hancock said the moment they parted long enough to breathe.

"You know what I want." Danse said, unwilling to explain again, to beg for punishment when he wasn't sure it'd be given to him. Hancock growled, half exasperated. The other half was impatience and that, Danse thought, was a good start.

"I know you want me. You said so, back in Goodneighbor."  
"Not like this ..." Hancock said and moaned when Danse dragged his fingernails down his back.

"Like this or not at all."

"I don't want to hurt you."  
"Bullshit." Danse snapped irritated. The same lie again. All Hancock was, was a lie. He pretended to be more than just a freak, more than just an unfeeling creature. Danse wanted the real Hancock, the ghoul, the one barely a step away from going feral.

"You want to hurt me.", he continued as he shoved down his hand down Hancock's trousers, jerked him rough and fast. The ghoul's eyes fluttered close, his hips bucking near imperceptibly into Danse's touch. "And I want you to do your worst. You hate me, despise me and for good reason. I killed your kind before." There he lowered his voice, knowing it would give what he said more impact. "I killed ghouls and didn't care if they were feral or not. Some of them I knew where not. They begged me to spare them. I didn't just follow orders. I enjoyed it."

Hancock didn't curse. This time his anger was white-hot and silent as a grave. He pushed Danse off and even though he went willingly he was still taken aback by the sheer power that this ghoul had at his disposal. He backed away, breath hitching when Hancock threw him onto the closest bed and untied his belt.

"Fine. You get your wish." he said, pulled first one, then the other hand over Danse's head and tied them together with his belt.

The knot was firm, the fabric strong enough to resist tearing. He had no intention of fighting back but apparently Hancock thought he might and that thought sent a spike of fear through him. He wondered if he hadn't pushed too far and then reminded himself that this was exactly what he needed. To be put in his place. Still he had to control his breathing as the ghoul rid him of his jumpsuit with harsh and quick motions and left him naked and exposed while he undressed himself. Danse's cock was already half-hard against his stomach, skin covered in goosebumps both at the cool breeze drafting in through cracks in the wall and the anticipation. He dug his fingers into the knot, watched Hancock step out of his boots and trousers, now just as naked as Danse. But where he felt vulnerable, Hancock still managed to radiate an air of power. Not bothering with putting on a show Hancock crawled over Danse, looking him up and down as if he was nothing more than an object to be done with as he pleased. Danse couldn't help the small noise he made and neither the arch of his back as he pushed up against Hancock, begging to be touched, hit or bitten.

"I know a dozen people personally who'd pay to take a cane to that ass of yours." Hancock said. "You and your pals from the Brotherhood caused a lot of hurt over the years. There are people out there who'd rip you to shreds for what's been done to them. Can't say I blame them."

Danse shivered but stayed quiet. When Hancock leaned down to kiss him he turned his head away. He didn't want kisses. But Hancock grabbed him by the hair and tore him back, causing Danse to yelp. Tears filled his eyes at the sudden sharp pain.

"You want this?" Hancock asked and waited for Danse to nod. "Then we'll do it my way."

The iron grip in his hair relaxed, Hancock leaned down again and this time Danse let it happen. The sensation of shriveled lips wasn't as horrible as he remembered. It was also much gentler. Hancock pushed softly against him, tongue darting out against his mouth pressed hard together. He stroked Danse's hair, fingers gently tracing lines, while he urged Danse to open his mouth. Danse shook his head, needed Hancock to get angry again.

"Come on, love, let me in." he murmured softly against his lips. Tried again but didn't force his mouth open, didn't bite his lips, didn't pull his hair. He did nothing of what Danse needed. He strained against his bonds but he couldn't speak without opening his mouth. With his free hand Hancock stroked his waist and down to his hips, dragging his thumb over the hipbone.

"You don't deserve to be hurt." he said. Danse protested, opened his mouth and forgot what he wanted to say when Hancock didn't take advantage. He looked up at him, face filled with confusion. He didn't know what was happening anymore. First it seemed like he had angered him enough to do what he needed him to do, then it appeared as if he tried to force Danse to enjoy himself and now this. As if he waited for Danse to consent whatever was about to happen. He closed his mouth again, didn't know what to say. Some of the helplessness he felt must have shown in his face, for Hancock cradled his cheek and kissed him again, an even lighter touch.

"You don't deserve to be hurt." he repeated. _It's not true_ , Danse wanted to say and _Stop pretending like I'm worth something_. But no sound would come except a breathless whimper when Hancock kissed him a third time, deep and passionate and as if he gave a damn. He started moving against Danse, in slow languid waves, nudging Danse's legs apart and coming to a rest between them, their bodies flush against each other. This wasn't just the closest Danse had been with another person since learning he was a synth. This was the closest he'd ever been with someone else. His whole body shook and no amount of breathing exercises would stop it. Why wouldn't he just hurt him? It didn't make any sense. He knew he'd been right about Hancock having reason to hate him. They were stark opposites in everything from personality to ideology. He had the capacity to be cruel, Danse knew that as well, but nothing he did or said would bring this part of him forth. Even willing and unable to fight back even if he wanted to, this damned man wouldn't do what he obviously wanted. Danse didn't know what motive he had for acting as if he liked him.

"Shhh, don't cry. I got ya."

Danse hadn't realised he was crying. But he did and Hancock whispered sweet nothings into his ear while he cradled his head and kissed away the tears.

"Stop. Please, stop pretending ... Hancock, please."

Danse was no longer above begging. He pulled at his constraints, made one last ditch effort to get away or make Hancock punish him after all.

"Not pretending anything. Just don't see the point beating a man that's already down."

Danse made to say something but was interrupted by Hancock gripping his cock and giving it a few jerks. His mouth fell open, head back, the sensation of ridged skin rubbing over him completely new. Hancock gave him time to adjust, slowed the motion of his hand while continuing to calm him down with soft words and gentle touches. Danse couldn't believe anyone would be as patient with him, wouldn't simply leave him or indulge him, but show kindness when it was wasted on him.

When he felt his cock rubbing against Hancock's it was almost enough to ask him to stop. A hand was a hand, no matter its texture, but another man's genitals was unknown territory. Another _ghoul's_ genitals bordered on the terrifying. Hancock was hard, aroused even though he didn't show it. He rested his head between Danse's shoulder and neck, mouthed at the skin as he rutted against him, the friction making Danse forget about him being a ghoul. He spread his legs wider, hooked one around Hancock's waist, the only way he could react to what was happening, as his throat was still clogged with tears and his hands still bound. Hancock moaned softly and tore himself away, sitting back on his haunches and gathering his wits.

"Be right back." he panted and got up and over to where his discarded clothes lay. He rifled for something Danse couldn't see from the position he was in and returned quickly, taking up the same position again, even guiding Danse's leg around his waist again, kissing the inside of his thigh and the crook of his knee as he did so. He moved against Hancock, lifted his hips to get closer, felt Hancock's hand gliding down his leg and between them. His fingers were slick with oil and Danse realised with a start what the substance he'd been retrieving was. Sure enough he felt a finger at his entrance, circling his rim, getting him used to the sensation.

"You okay?" Hancock asked upon seeing Danse's frown. "Wanna stop?"

"No ... this experience is just new to me. I will be fine."

Hancock took his time, used his free hand to jerk them both off, torturously slow. Only when Danse asked for more did he slip a finger inside his hole, the oil erasing all resistance. Danse fantasised about this but never expected it to feel like this. It wasn't unpleasant, on the contrary, but he had to keep his legs apart for Hancock to have enough space and felt too exposed for his own liking.

"Kiss me again?" he asked and Hancock obliged, covering him with his body and giving Danse the illusion of privacy.

Like this he could enjoy the slow push and pull of his finger, the pleasant burn when he added a second, scissoring them and rubbing against his insides.

"You don't have to do it so slow." Danse said between kisses. "I can take it."  
"What did I say about wanting to hurt you?" Hancock said and, if anything, slowed down even more.

It was beginning to drive Danse crazy. He rolled his hips against Hancock, tried to relax as much as possible if only so he'd hurry up and fuck him already. He never thought he could enjoy himself this immensely with a ghoul. One he tried to rope into abusing him to top it off. He still didn't know how he would feel when this was over and with this pace he wasn't sure this was ever going to end. Finally he felt the renewed stretch of Hancock adding another finger, thrusting them in harder and making Danse cry out. If he felt this full on just his fingers the idea of having his cock in him almost made Danse cum on the spot.

"Please ... this has to be enough." he pleaded. To his aggravation Hancock chuckled, seemingly unaffected by what was going on. But he did indulge Danse and pulled out only to slick himself up with the oil and guiding the tip of his cock to Danse's entrance. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch and for all his urgency before Danse was grateful for it. He lay completely still, his hole burning and fluttering around the ghoul's cock.

"Relax, handsome." Hancock growled softly against his ear and only now did Danse consider how it must feel for him. Tight and wet, surrounded by heat and forced to stop halfway while allowing Danse to set his own pace. He made an effort to relax himself, breathed deeply and nodded when he felt he could take more. Hancock took him deeper, bottomed out and sighed.

"Fuck, you're tight. Sure you're not hurtin'?"

Danse nodded. His eyes were squeezed shut but not out of pain. He grinded against Hancock, begged him without words to fuck him. Hancock obliged, pulled out and pushed back in, slow and deep. He pushed his knee back towards Danse's chest and hooked it over his shoulder, giving him better access. That was when he started pounding his ass in ernest, not fast but deep and hard, never painful but driving Danse to the edge fast. He keened at every thrust reverberating through his entire body, listened to the little punched out noises Hancock made as he drove into him. They were beyond words at this point, not even proper curses leaving either their mouths, just aborted attempts at forming coherent speech.

"Fu- ... oh god ... yes ..."  
Danse responded in kind, tore at the belt binding his hands together until Hancock reached up and undid the knot one handed. The second he was released he threw his arms around Hancock's neck, pulling him down and nuzzling his cheek, seeking more contact, more sensation, anything. The flag fluttered to the ground, forgotten its initial purpose. Hancock wrapped his hand around his cock again, let him fuck up into his fist until he found release. Danse came shouting Hancock's name, cum splattering over his stomach, hole clenching around Hancock. His moves became erratic and it didn't take long for him to spill his release, teeth dug into Danse's neck, licking at his sweaty skin until he stopped twitching. He went limp, put his whole weight on Danse who didn't mind, barely felt it at all. Without thinking about why he put his arm around Hancock's waist to keep him secure on top of him, staring at the ceiling as his mind caught up to the present. Stress that had built up for months fell off his shoulders, leaving him light-headed and smiling for the first time since he stopped being Danse the paladin and became Danse the synth. He drew small circles on Hancock's back, found to his surprise that the strange skin texture no longer put him off. But perhaps the most astonishing part was that he felt no regret. He was sure he would. It seemed inevitable that having intercourse with a ghoul would cause him to shed his last layer of pride. But things hadn't gone the way he planned in more ways than one. And he couldn't bring himself to feel shame at the kindness he'd been shown.

"Thank you." he said when he regained his breath and bearings. Hancock made a questioning sound.

"For not doing what I wanted you to. I was wrong, both to think that to help me and to ask you to do it. I apologise for the way I behaved."

"This make you feel better at least?" Hancock asked, muffled by his own tiredness and the fact that his face was half buried in Danse's chest. Danse thought about the question, stroking Hancock's back and noting what he could only describe as a purr coming from him. If he said no it would belie his disposition, which was a great deal more stable than it had been. But if he said yes he feared Hancock might get up and leave. He settled for a compromise.

"I ... uh, don't know. I might need a repeat performance to, uh, judge the effects on my psyche."

Hancock laughed, deep and gravelly.

"Subtle. But sure, why not? Just gotta talk to Nicky first."

"Nicky- Nick Valentine? What does he have to do with ....?" he trailed off, pointing between himself and Hancock when he looked up to see where the rest of that sentence had gone. He blinked, then went back to his original position.

"We're kind of a thing, Nicky and I. Thought you knew."

Danse hadn't. Ice-cold dread settled over his previously post-coital hazy mind.

"You two ... why didn't you say anything? I would never have made advances if I'd known. This is ... I am truly sorry, I ..."  
"Geez, calm down. He knows about this."

"He does?"  
"Yeah. Or at least that I was planning to fuck you."  
"You were?"

"It was Nick's idea, actually. Guy's concerned about you, you know?"

"He i-" Danse realised he had to contribute something of more substance to this conversation. "But if you are in an established monogamous relationship, wouldn't this be considered cheating?"

Hancock didn't answer and Danse couldn't see his face well enough to guess what he was thinking.

"What's monogamous?" he finally asked, throwing Danse for a loop.

"It means a relationship exclusive to two parties, without third parties involved in any way."

"That's a thing?"

Danse didn't know it was a thing, mostly because for something to be a thing there had to be alternatives. But Hancock seemed genuinely baffled at the notion of a romantic entanglement being only between two people. Danse decided to let the subject drop. It was time he started to trust that Hancock knew what he was doing.

 

He sincerely hoped Hancock knew what he was doing. He sat awkwardly on a creaky chair, once again without his power armor, in Valentine's detective agency while Hancock occupied what he assumed to be Nick's chair, feet propped up on the table as they waited for Nick to return from his errand. He'd met them in the market, giving them a hurried greeting and telling them to wait at his place and he'd be back shortly. It gave Danse even more time to doubt his decision to agree to a rendezvous between the three of them. He'd gotten into this via an attempt to punish himself. He had no right to intrude upon an actual healthy relationship, no matter how little Hancock understood the concept of exclusivity.

Before he had time to leave after all, though, Nick came back with three cups of Takahashi's noodles. He told Hancock to take his feet off his desk if he valued keeping them and hung his hat and coat on the rack before going up to Hancock and kissing him briefly.

"Mind if we make this a lazy affair? I've been on my feet all day."

Hancock hummed his agreement and Danse shrugged when they both looked at him for input. He still felt like an intruder. He followed the duo awkwardly as they made their way on the bed, leaving enough space between them for Danse to settle with Valentine on his left and Hancock on his right. He was given a noodle cup by one and a reassuring nudge by the other. He looked to Valentine who smiled at him encouragingly.

"So, uh ... what were you investigating just now?" Danse asked, probably winning the prize for most stilted conversation starter. Thankfully Nick indulged him and told them about his day and the latest trails he'd been following. Soon they were engrossed in conversation, initial awkwardness forgotten. When night fell Nick pulled out the blankets from under his bed. They huddled underneath, close together, Hancock's head resting sleepily against Danse's shoulder while he watched Danse and Nick go through some old case files, chatting about the similarities and differences in gathering information for a case versus gathering information in a recon mission. At some point Danse put his arm around Nick's shoulder out of pure convenience. It was better than having it squished between them. Although he had to admit Nick's small smile, looking like such a private thing, made having the idea all the more fortunate.

They went through several cases before exhaustion caught up with all of them. By the time Nick declared himself in need of rest, Hancock was already fast asleep and snoring softly.  
"This is gonna be a tight fit." Nick said as he glanced at the bed. "Gotta invest in a more spacious bedroom if we're gonna spend more time here."

Danse didn't dare ask, for fear of being rejected, but that sounded a lot like Nick was inclined to let him into this relationship. In a turn of events he could never have predicted he found himself wanting that. For now though he was content to pick up Hancock and move himself so they ended up with Danse on his back and Hancock half draped across him and half across Nick. A fair amount of shuffling and accidentally elbowing each other in the face was needed before they found the best way to make this work in a bed meant for one person and now inhabited by three. Hancock slept through the entire fuss, a soundness of sleep which Danse envied. Though he had a feeling that this night would be a pleasant one.

"Sleep well." Nick said before he shut off the lights.

"You as well." Danse replied. Silence covered the small room, breached only by Hancock's snoring and the slightly too rhythmic breathing of Nick, reminding Danse starkly that he shared the bed with a ghoul and a mechanical synth, one of which he had slept with. And still there was none of the shame he'd sought out before. Just the thought that he wouldn't mind falling asleep like this every night.

 

 


End file.
